


Solicited Noods

by lynne_monstr



Category: Leverage
Genre: F/M, Food Show, Girls weekend, Kind of a case-fic, Multi, The meaning of friendship, Unexpected Meetings, quinn is a menace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 06:16:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13048212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynne_monstr/pseuds/lynne_monstr
Summary: Peggy invites Parker to attend a Fancy Food Festival, and it leads to conversations about cats, a weekend of food tastings, one (1) adorably annoying love interest, and a side of attempted murder.(Or, What Parker knows about friendship is this. Friends don’t let friends fall into the clutches of international criminals. Unless they're good-guy criminals. Or a bad friend.)





	Solicited Noods

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladyjax](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyjax/gifts).



> Things may have spiraled slightly out of control when i saw Peggy/Quinn on your ship list, but I tried to stick to the spirit of the prompt. I had a lot of fun writing this, and I hope you enjoy reading it. Happy holidays!

"It's my honor to introduce our surprise guest judge for this year's Just Eat It cooking competition.” Applause washed over the exhibition hall as the announcer paused, waiting for it to die down. "Please welcome Miss Alice White!”

Parker froze, a spoonful of Nutella already half way to her mouth as the spotlight from the stage swiveled in an unerring path towards her.

“You may know Ms. White from her popular food blog…" The announcer trailed off, squinting at the prompter in the background before hesitantly adding, “Ahem, her popular blog, Solicited Noods.”

"This was a terrible plan," Parker hissed under her breath.

Next to her, Peggy hissed right back, “Well, it’s your terrible plan, so get up there. And speaking of terrible, what’s with that hideous blog name.”

At the front of the room. the announcer was frantically motioning Parker to get moving.

Parker ate her bite of still-hovering Nutella. For luck. “The Noods means noodles.”

“I’m aware, thank you. That doesn’t make it better.”

“Hardison thought it was funny.” Eliot, she recalled, had reacted with an expression similar to what Peggy was wearing right now.

Peggy shook her head, mouthing “It’s awful,” even as she made to leave. She had her own part to play elsewhere.

Mourning the rest of her uneaten Nutella, Parker plastered on a wide smile and took the stage.

_._

_Three Days Earlier_

Parker jostled her way through the crowds at the San Francisco Fancy Food Show, listening to the buzz of the crowd as she and Peggy ate their way through the event. The large, open space and high ceilings made the sound bounce around in every direction, and it was a fun game to try and determine which snatches of conversation were coming from which people.

Parker's fingers practically itched at the sheer number of easy marks. It wasn't stealing if she gave it back, right?

"....And that's how Herc ended up as my guard-cat,” Peggy finished with a triumphant wave of her hand.

"Guard-cat." Parker rolled the word around on her tongue, testing it. "Don't you mean guard dog?"

"Well, no. Herc’s a cat."

There was a certain sort of logic in that, Parker supposed. An image of Eliot fighting side-by-side with a tiny kitten flashed behind her eyes, and she laughed. Maybe they'd get guard-cat for the Brew Pub. Or one to protect Hardison while he was on his own in the van on jobs. Or they could gift one to Nate and Sophie, since they no longer had an Eliot with them to keep them safe.

Parker pondered the possibilities as they headed to the next booth.

About a month ago, Peggy had called her up out of the blue and invited her to a food festival in San Francisco. A friend of hers had gotten tickets and then had to cancel due to a family emergency. The tickets had gone to Peggy, who had invited Parker for a girls weekend, since they both worked in the food industry.

Parker was concerned at first. They were friends, but she wasn't sure what they were supposed to do together for so many days. What did people do for fun when one friend thought the other was a spy, but was actually a career criminal? Well a good-guy career criminal, she amended. But the question remained.

Apparently, as she was learning, friends told funny stories to each other, talked about cats, and ate lots of food together.

"How do you feel about jumping off buildings?" Parker asked. That was also something friends did.

Peggy stopped short and almost got swept away by the crowds of people roaming the exhibition space. A few quick sidesteps and she was back at Parker's side. "Is this for," she looked around lowered her voice, "a...you know, your _spy_ thing?"

"No." Parker wrinkled her nose. "Is that something spies do?"

Peggy gave her a weird look. "Well, you'd know."

Right, because she was a spy. “Yeah, spies jump off buildings. They love it. So do you want to?”

“I'd be terrified." The words sent a sinking disappointment through Parker but then Peggy smiled wide and added, "Sounds like fun. We could try that for our next girls weekend. Oh! Do you think Marge and her friend would want to come, too?"

Parker was fairly certain Sophie wanted anything other than to be called Marge for an entire weekend, but she nodded anyway.

Maybe this friend stuff wasn't so hard after all.

They made their way through the crowds of people until they reached the end of the aisle, and then turned down the next one. Finally, the chocolate vendors. Parker had been in this section earlier in the day, but hadn’t had time to try all the chocolates she wanted. Now the day was sliding into mid-afternoon, and she was concerned there wouldn’t be time to try everything. There was still the rest of the weekend ahead of them, but it was never too early to start eating chocolate.

Grabbing Peggy’s arm, she hustled them to the first booth. A plate of chocolates sat on the table, glittering like a pile of shimmering dark jewels, just begging her to take them.

“So,” Peggy said, after they each tried a piece. She drew the word out, eyes dancing. “Guess what?”

Parker paused, a second sample already in her mouth.

“I met a guy. A cute guy.” Peggy clapped her hands, beaming.

“Where? When?”

Peggy just looked at her blankly, and so Parker quickly chewed the rest of her delicious almond crunch chocolate bar and repeated the question.

“At the knife demonstration after lunch,” Peggy said. “You know, the one you missed because you’re a chocolate addict.”

Parker was going to protest that assertion, but she still had chocolate on her fingers, a half-eaten chocolate sample in her hands, and a veritable stash of chocolate and chocolate-based products in the bags she’d purchased over the course of the day.

It was true that she had missed the knife exhibition. But she had every intention of going, really she did. Except then she got caught up at a booth giving out free chocolate samples. She might have gotten a bit carried away with the caramel chocolates. Or was it the sea salt chocolates? Maybe the sesame chocolates. No, it was definitely the hot chili chocolates.

Okay so maybe Peggy had a point.

“And can you believe it?” Peggy continued. “I was trying out one of the knives and Mr. Hot Stuff startled me and I almost stabbed the poor man.”

“I’ve been told you’re not supposed to stab people.” At least, not on Wednesdays.

“I know, right! But he just laughed and said that most people waited until after the introductions before pointing weapons at him. And do you know what the best part is—he likes cats. How perfect is that?"

Parker frowned. "The last time you thought you found a cute man who likes cats-"

"My date who you stole," Peggy interrupted. But she was smiling so she probably wasn't still mad about that. Probably.

Parker hoped she wasn't still mad. "Yeah, him. He was an international thief. Not a cat lover. I don’t even think he was a cat- _liker_."

"All the more reason to try with this guy. He’s cute and funny and—” Peggy reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone, waving it in the air like a declaration of victory, “—he gave me his number. And come on, what are the chances of getting picked up by a wanted criminal again?"

Parker didn’t say, ‘ _Everyone I know is a criminal except you,’_ or, ‘ _I once boosted two different cars in the same afternoon and their radios were both on the same radio station.’_ Instead, what she said was, "If you catch him trying to pick locks, hit him with your jam and run.” She pointed to the oversized bag of specialty jams Peggy had bought before they had gone their separate ways towards knives and chocolates and cute men of dubious morality who potentially lied about cats.

Parker had also chosen some jams for herself. The man selling them had looked at her strangely when she’d mentioned putting them on cereal, but what did he know?

Then they were off to the next section and the next booth. Peggy wanted to try infused olive oils.

(What Parker did know about friendship was this. _Friends didn't let friends fall into the clutches of international criminals._ Unless they're good-guy criminals. Or a bad friend.)

.

Infused olive oils were weird.

Peggy laughed at her when she tried the garlic one and nearly spit it right back out. But it was the kind of laughing that made Parker laugh too, instead of feeling left out, and so she tried the rosemary one next, which was better but still not right.

“I don’t get it,” she said, turning to where Peggy had collected a small army of tiny crackers in front of her. “What do you do with these oils, anyway?”

“Lots of things.” Peggy gestured with a cracker. “You can season potatoes or dip bread in them.”

Parker squinted at the crackers, stealing one while Peggy wasn’t looking. That actually sounded pretty good.

The woman manning the counter, a tall woman with spiky red hair, piped in. “Or you can sprinkle it on pizza or pasta.”

“Oh. I like noodles.”

Parker talked a little more with her about food and cooking, and though she didn’t really get all the details, the woman, Margaret, gave her several slips of paper with recipes printed on them.

In the end, she didn’t find any olive oils she really liked, but she picked up a few bottles for Eliot, anyway. He’d find a use for them. And if he didn’t have something in mind, he liked experimenting with new flavors for the Brew Pub. Parker liked to watch, and both her and Hardison liked to try Eliot’s new creations. So the purchase was a win for everyone.

With that thought in mind, she bought a few more different flavors, and told Margaret to stop by the Brew Pub if she ever came to Portland.

The spicy chili dip at the next booth made her ears ring. Those, she liked. She bought some for herself, and placed a larger order for delivery to the Brew Pub.

Parker was so caught up in new foods and new flavors and being _normal_ that she almost missed it. A shadow where a shadow shouldn't be. A flicker of motion high above. Peggy was two booths behind her and Parker’s brain was calculating trajectories before she even registered why. Twirling on her foot, she dropped the toothpick of smoked salmon she was tasting, and sprinted in the opposite direction.

Dodging between people was almost as much of a thrill as weaving between lasers. Most people didn’t even notice her darting past them.

At least, not until she jump-tackled Peggy, shouting mid-lunge for everyone to get out of the way. The two of them hit the ground amidst the high-pitched screams of the people around them. Immediately to their left, a crash rang out as one of the heavy booth scaffolding beams crashed into the place where Peggy was just standing. In the next breath, a display of caviar came tumbling to the ground.

Around them, people were shouting and pointing and panicking, but Parker barely registered it. She was too busy thinking about how this was no accident. The way the scaffolding had fallen was impossible given how the booths were constructed. The only way it had come down like that was if someone wanted it to.

Someone had just tried to hurt Peggy. Parker was mad. No, she was furious.

The familiar weight of her earbud was in her hand before she consciously made the decision. By the time she escorted a shaken Peggy from the building, Hardison had a short-list of suspects and Eliot was briefing her on the details of the building's security and its staff.

And maybe that's what friendship was, too. Talking about cats and eating food and getting revenge when someone tried to drop a building on your head.

.

Back at the hotel suite they were sharing, Peggy calmed herself down by watching her cats on some internet camera installed in her apartment.

It wasn’t a bad idea, Parker thought, and wondered if Hardison and Eliot would object to a camera rig in their home. It was hard to tell sometimes, what would set them off. They spied on people for a living, but they were touchy about those kinds of things. Parker didn’t mind the idea. There wasn’t anything she did alone that she wouldn’t do in front of either of them. Except maybe for buying Christmas and birthday gifts. Those needed to be a surprise.

She left Peggy on the couch with her cats and retired to her room, closing the door behind her. Tapping her earbud once, she asked, “Hardison, got anything new for me?”

“Nothing, baby girl. There’s no one working at that food show with any ties to your friend.”

“So there’s nothing? You found nothing?”

“I wouldn’t say that. There is a whole lot of nasty going on behind the scenes.” Hardison let out high pitched whistle. “Nasty, I tell you. But sadly, none of that is related to us. it’s all a big fat zero.”

“Kind of like your love life, you mean.” Eliot’s voice on comms was crystal clear, so he must have his in, too.

“Really, man. Really? Cause from where I’m sitting the only things I remember you saying about my love life last night was, “More, Hardison,’ and, ‘Harder, Hardison,’ and, ‘oh Hardison you sex god you, right there.’

Eliot’s huff was audible even through the phone. “I didn’t say that last one.”

“He did, Parker, girl. Believe me he did. I am now officially Alec ‘Sex God’ Hardison. God of sex. Master of the Universe. I’m gonna put that on my resume, you hear.” Parker could practically picture him spinning around in his chair and talking with his hands. She missed him. Him and Eliot both.

Hardison must have mind reading powers, because his next words were, “Only thing that would have made it better was if you were right there with us.”

Parker smiled. She missed them both but if they were having bedroom marathons at least they weren’t stealing stuff without her. They knew better than to leave her out of _that._

“The search, Hardison. Someone tried to kill Parker’s friend.”

“Like I said, a big ole zilch is what we got. I’ve got some deeper algorithms doing what they do, but it’s gonna take a little time.”

Time Peggy might not have. Parker paused in her pacing. If Hardison’s computer magic couldn’t get the answers she needed it was time for some old-fashioned criminal legwork.

“Alright, thanks Hardison.”

Parker cut the connection. She didn’t fall asleep for several hours yet, turning the events of the day over and over in her head. There was something there she wasn’t seeing but she’d find it.

She’d find it.

But she needed to do it before whoever tried to kill Peggy tried it again.

.

What she didn’t expect to find the very next day at the convention center, right in the middle of the fancy hummus section, was Peggy’s mystery man crush.

“You! You don’t belong here.” Parker snarled and picked up the closest thing to a weapon at hand. Her fingers curled around an object sitting on the hummus booth. She frowned at the flimsy white plastic knife in her hand.

It must’ve worked though, because when she strode forward, the man stepped back, his hands going up in surrender. Parker knew better than to buy the act. She’d seen Eliot in that very same position, and two seconds later there were nine guys on the floor while Eliot critiqued their fighting technique.

And while the man in front of her was no Eliot—no one was—he’d once come surprisingly close to taking Eliot in a fight, which is more than most people could claim. He wasn’t wearing his customary suit, but the rest was familiar enough. The messy ponytail and the relaxed yet confident stance, down to the smirk scrawled across his face that seemed to loudly proclaim he was in on a joke while the rest of the world was two steps behind.

Parker narrowed her eyes at him. “You better have a good reason for showing up here, Quinn.”

He pointed to one of the pockets on his jacket. “I have a ticket.”

“Quinn! Quinn? You said your name was Matthew!” Peggy’s shout caught both their attentions, anger blazing behind her eyes.

Quinn didn’t move from his defensive stance, but his body shifted, subtly taking in both angry women.

Another thought occurred to Parker, hitting her like ice water in her blood. What were the chances a hitter of Quinn’s caliber was in town the day after someone tried to hurt Peggy?

Parker took a step to the side, placing herself closer to Peggy in case she needed to move quickly. “You better not have been involved in what happened yesterday.”

“If I recall, the only incident that happened yesterday is that I was assaulted by a floor sample knife wielded by a very pretty lady.” Quinn gave a lopsided grin. “I was hoping she’d call.”

“Well she was a little busy being almost crushed to death,” Parker shot back.

Quinn’s smile froze for a split second. “That was you?” he asked.

And maybe he wasn’t the assassin after all. There was something about the way his eyes raked over Peggy that was more protective than predatory. Parker suddenly longed for a dark, quiet storage room and a ceiling beam to hang upside-down from. She needed to think.

“I bet you don’t even like cats!” Peggy interrupted her train of thought with an angry yell, and hefted the large bag of fancy marinades she’d bought earlier that morning. Parker had the sudden, strange sensation of being more concerned for Quinn’s safely than Peggy’s.

Quinn ran a hair through his ponytail, smoothing down the flyaway strands. “Actually, that part was true.”

Peggy paused, but didn’t lower the bag. “Really?”

“Who cares, he’s a bad guy.” Parker said.

“I’m not a bad guy. I’m an independent contractor.”

“Yeah, a bad guy.” And Parker would know. She might lead a band of criminals, but they were criminals who helped people. Not criminals who were only in it for themselves. She turned to Peggy. “He rides the Bike of Crime, if you know what I mean.”

“Did you just do air quotes?” Peggy asked.

“Excuse me,” Quinn cut in. “If I was going to ride anything, it would be a motorcycle of crime. I have taste, you know,” he added, winking at Peggy.

And no no no, Peggy was blushing now, and Parker must be the worst friend in all of history because _friends don’t let friends fall for international criminals._

“Hey!” Parker pointed her plastic knife. “No flirting until we rule you out as a suspect.”

“My professionalism is offended. If I was trying to kill Peggy, she’d be dead. No offense.”

“Just like you weren’t trying to kidnap Eliot that one time? Heard that went great for you.”

“That hardly counts.”

“I can’t believe I thought you were cute!” Peggy’s outburst preempted what Parker was going to say next. “You’re not called Matthew, you don’t work in an animal shelter, and you’re kind of an asshole. And a hitman?”

“I prefer hitter, actually.” Quinn shuffled his feet and shrugged a shoulder, and it reminded Parker of when Eliot turned his charm on the marks.

“Well, prefer _this_ , you lying sack of—” Peggy cut herself off with a grunt and swung her marinade bag straight at Quinn’s head.

Quinn leaned back casually, the bag whooshing harmlessly through the air. “Lying? I thought I was cute.”

Peggy lunged, swinging again. “I hate you!”

She swung again.

“You stupid.”

Another swing.

“Lying.”

And another.

“Attractive crime man!”

Internally, Parker was cheering her on, but they were starting to attract attention from the other convention goers now. She didn’t think Quinn would actually hurt Peggy—she wasn’t his target, Parker was fairly sure of that, now. She also wasn’t any type of physical threat to him, and Parker had a good enough read on the hitter to know that would stay his hand. Not to mention, Parker had it on good authority that Eliot still met up with Quinn to pull the occasional job, which meant there had to be something not awful about the man under all that hair.

Still, Parker needed to put an end to this before someone pulled out their phone and she had to call Hardison to scrub YouTube. Again.

Moving quickly, she wrapped an arm around Peggy’s waist and pulled her back, just as she started to another backhand swing. It wasn’t fast enough to stop the heavy bag from colliding against Quinn’s forearm, inches in front of his chin. The bag went flying, plastic bottles of colorful sauces skidding and spinning every which way.

It reminded Parker of that time last year when she and Hardison were putting up Christmas decorations. They were nearly done when Eliot had come out of the bathroom dripping wet, and wearing nothing but a towel and a grin. This was shortly after Eliot had joined their relationship, and they both stopped and stared at him. Specifically, at the water running off his hair onto his bare chest. The long box holding their decorations had tilted and slipped, sending ornaments rolling everywhere. All that colorful glass making a break for freedom.

Their current situation was slightly slimier. And smelled like barbeque.

Time seemed to stand still as the three of them alternated between staring at each other, and staring at the marinades, though Parker doubted either Quinn or Peggy was thinking about naked Eliot and Christmas tree decorating. At least, she hoped they weren’t.

Eventually, they pushed free of the crowd without making any more of scene.

.

Neither of them said anything during the cab ride to the hotel.

Like a taut wire pulled too far, Peggy exploded into motion the second the door to their room closed behind them. She paced around the suite’s living room area, throwing her hands up for emphasis every few words. The topics ranged from stupid lying men, to the flimsiness of plastic bags, to how Peggy had the worst luck of any small business owner on the planet.

Parker didn’t try to stop her. Everyone had their own ways of working through anger. Parker was partial to revenge and payback, but if Peggy wanted to rant then that was fine too.

“And I lost half my purchases. Those marinades were expensive. I had such great ideas to use them at this party I’m catering in Miami.” Peggy paused, considering. “At least I didn’t have the jams with me. Those cost a small fortune.”

A memory floated to the surface in Parker’s mind as Peggy spoke. It jarred loose a piece of the puzzle she’d been consistently working in the back of her head for the past day. She bolted upright from where she way lying upside down off the edge of the arm chair.

“Peggy, you’re a genius. I need your jams.”

Peggy stepped between the plastic carry bag and Parker. “You already scared off my potential date, and didn’t let me collect my marinades. Now you want my jams too? You have your own.” Despite the words, she was already across the room and digging through her bag and muttering to herself.

Parker refrained from mentioning that Quinn was not a suitable potential date. They’d already had that argument earlier, once the hitter had split off from them to do whatever is it he did when he was alone.

Peggy set the jars of jam on the couch, and the last piece that had been niggling at Parker’s brain finally rotated into place. The familiar rush filled her, the same as cracking a safe or getting a grift just right. She hopped off the arm-chair and upended her own jam purchases onto the couch.

“I know what they’re after.”

“They’re after my jams?” Peggy looked dubious.

“Look.” Parker pointed at the jams Peggy had bought the previous day and then at her own jam purchases. “We both bought the pomegranate, but your label is different than mine. And it’s the same with the rhubarb. But see how the strawberry labels are identical.”

“You’re seriously saying someone tried to kill me because you figured out they liked variety in their labels?”

“No. Think about it. The different labels are a marker. There’s something special about these jars.” Parker picked one up and put it to her eye like it was a telescope, swiveling her jam jar eye around the room. ““Funny, you don’t look special,” she mumbled. “What makes you worth killing for?”

“This seems like a stretch. Maybe they just like variety.”

“It’s not that. I see patterns, even when I don’t notice it at the time. And we passed by that Jamlicious Jams counter again on our way out. None of your labels were on display today.” Parker tossed the jar in the air one-handed, enjoying the repetitive _smack smack smack_ sounds of it falling back into her palm. “Someone made a mistake and they gave you the wrong jars. Now they’re trying to clean it up.”

“Then why try to kill me? Why not steal it back?”

Parker’s bark of laughter was so loud she almost startled herself. “Like anyone could break into a hotel room of mine.”

“Another spy thing, huh?”

Parker shrugged. “Something like that.”

“So let’s just give them the jars back.”

“They already tried to kill you once. No, we have to take them down.”

This time it was Parker who was pacing, turning the jar over and over in her hands, searching out its secrets. This would be so much easier with super powers. Where was her x-ray vision when she needed it?

On the couch, Peggy sighed and cleared away the jam and laid down across the cushions, her legs dangling over the arm rest. “I used to be boring before I met you.”

Parker paused, head tilted towards the couch. “But this is more fun.”

“You call almost getting killed fun?”

Parker met her upside-down gaze and nodded.

“Okay, maybe it’s a little fun,” Peggy conceded. “But also, a lot more terrifying.”

And look at that, Parker just might make a thief of her yet. Or maybe not, she amended, when Peggy pulled her cell phone from her pocket, and shortly after, started talking about her day in between making cooing noises and kissy faces.

Her cats, Parker realized. She was talking to her cats.

“They like hearing my voice on the machine,” Peggy explained.

Parker remembered talking to the stuffed bear Amy had given her when she tore her ACL and decided not to comment.

“On to phase two,” was what she said instead, rubbing her hands together in glee.

She hadn’t been expecting to do any breaking and entering at a fancy food festival with her non-criminal friend. But Hardison always liked to say that life was full of surprises, you just had to know where to look.

(Actually, he had screamed that while springing a trap on an enemy hoard during one of his internet game nights, but she figured it counted anyway.)

After Peggy went to sleep, Parker made a call of her own. She was pretty sure that Peggy had figured out she wasn’t a spy, but decided not to press it by bringing Hardison and Eliot too much into the mix.

It didn’t take long for Hardison to break into Jamlicious Jam’s financial statements and find the large sums of money deposited to the West Coast branch manager’s not-so-secret offshore accounts. And for Eliot to recognize some big shot LA drug runner in the grainy video feed of the branch manager’s favorite lunch restaurant.

And for Parker to realize that whatever drugs were being moved in those jam jars, the exchange was going down somewhere near the food show.

“Find me that meeting, Hardison.”

And because Hardison was Hardison, he did.

.

The plan was simple.

Spy on the super-secret meeting so Parker could figure out how the drugs were being distributed, steal anything she could get away with stealing, and get out.

The meeting itself was disappointingly unimaginative. The exchange was happening the middle of the night in one of the storage areas in the bowels of the same exhibition space the food festival was being held in. Parker liked abandoned places, but it was strange to see the building so empty after seeing it so teeming with life earlier.

She was currently clinging to the underside of a steel walkway about thirty feet high that spanned the perimeter of the large storage room. There were no windows, and the only light was a flickering glow from the fluorescentts set even higher up than she was. It cast an eerie glow on the four men in jeans and t-shirts that waited empty handed in the middle of the open floor.

One of them, a stocky guy with a buzz cut that Parker recognized from Hardison’s digital pictures, was clearly the leader. He stood slightly in front of the others, scanning the shadowed corners of the room. Like most people, he was so busy looking behind him that he forgot to look up. To his left was an even bigger guy holding a gun in plain sight. The enforcer, most likely. And to the leader’s other side was a tall man with a duffel bag. The money man. Parker set her sights on him. That left the last, who was probably more backup muscle.

They were all waiting for someone, though Hardison hadn’t been able to pull up any electronic records of who they were meeting.

Outside, Peggy was hidden away, watching the room’s main exit and ready to warn Parker over the comms if anyone else approached. Parker hadn’t wanted her to come along, but Peggy insisted on helping—well, first she had complained about being woken up in the middle of then night, and then she had insisted on coming—and she was an adult capable of making her own decisions.

Parker was just contemplating swinging down to the floor below to pickpocket the quartet and see what goods they’d brought to this meeting when she heard footfalls coming from behind one of the large crates in the corner. There was radio silence from Peggy, which meant whoever this was had been there undetected the whole time. A professional.

Parker stayed on her guard, ready to bolt if this ended up being a trap.

She almost groaned and gave away her position when she saw the approaching man was Quinn.

“Sorry Peggy,” she whispered. “He’s here.”

Quinn was dressed for business, the only variation to his formal attire being the briefcase he carried in his hand. Parker counted at least three guns concealed in various places. She didn’t like guns, and she liked them even less after over six years of working with Eliot.

A sigh came over the comms. “I’m doomed. I’m cursed. Just once, can’t I meet a nice man.”

“Why so surprised? You knew yesterday he wasn’t who he said he was.”

Beneath her, Quinn was opening the suitcase and showing its contents to the gang leader. Even from this high up Parker recognized the stack of papers as being identical to the labels on Peggy’s contraband jams.

She was begrudgingly impressed. Drugs hidden in the adhesive. Easy to transport. Easy to hide in plain sight.

Peggy’s voice broke into her reverie. “I know, but at least yesterday I could pretend he wasn’t working with the people who tried to kill me. My cats and I are going to die single and alone,” she lamented.

It sounded loud in Parker’s ear but she knew for a fact she was the only one in the large room who could hear it.

“The product’s all here.” the leader said, as Quinn closed the suitcase and handed it over. “Marcel, pay the man his money.”

The tall man, Marcel, did as requested.

Quinn hefted the duffel bag a couple times. Then once more. “Feels empty by half.”

“If the test run succeeds, you get the other half.”

“That was hardly the deal.” Quinn’s hand drifted towards one of the concealed guns.

One of the backup goons chose that exact moment to look up. His eyes locked onto Parker’s and he startled, backpedaling and cursing loudly while pointing up at her.

Parker cursed, too. Talk about bad luck. Hardly anyone ever looked up, but it happened every so often.

The lead goon pulled a gun, and almost in unison, the rest of his men did too. “You double-crossed us!”

For a guy with four guns pointed at him, Quinn didn’t seem phased. “Me? You shorted me half my fee!”

Parker reached a hand behind her, fingers finding what they needed in her belt. From the corner of her eye she could see the standoff unfolding. Quinn had a gun in each hand, holding three of the men at bay in a stalemate that couldn’t last much longer. The last had his weapon aimed upwards at the walkway. Aiming for Parker.

She scuttled upside side along the underside of the grating, making herself a harder target to hit.

Suddenly, her comm came to life..

“They’re on the move. One guy headed up the stairs towards you. Get out of there.” Eliot’s voice was a comfort in her ear.

The money man, Parker noticed, had taken both the duffel bag of cash and Quinn’s briefcase and was bolting towards the exit. She spared a worried thought for Peggy, but if she followed instructions and stayed hidden she wouldn’t be in any danger.

Parker swung herself over the edge of the walkway so that she was now standing on top off it.

And then jumped.

She twisted her body in mid-air, shooting her grappling hook upwards towards one of the lighting riggings overhead. It caught perfectly, and then she was swinging through the empty space to land on light feet on the opposite side of the main floor area. Across the room, the man running up the stairs in an attempt to ambush her stopped in his tracks and stared. Parker waved at him.

The she waved at Quinn, who pistol whipped one of the goons, and was facing off against the other.

“Eliot says hi.” Parker pointed to her ear, then back at Quinn, and waved again for emphasis.

“I didn’t—I said no such thing, Parker.”

Quinn aimed the gun at the remaining man and pulled the trigger. Then frowned at the gun when it jammed. Meanwhile, the guy had recovered from the shock of almost getting shot with his own weapon, lunging at Quinn and catching him in the stomach. Parker winced in sympathy, even as she ran towards the exit in pursuit of the money man.

Quinn recovered quickly, flipping the man over his shoulder and finishing him off with a quick kick to the head. “Tell Eliot I say hi back!” he shouted across the buzz of fluorescent lights and the groans of the injured. He had a demented grin on his face as he straightened his suit jacket and brushed the dirt from his sleeves.

“Did you hear that?” Parker asked Eliot. She was now sprinting her way towards the exit, footfalls barely audible even as she ran. Her target was just a few feet ahead of her now.

Instead of exiting the building, he veered into a branching corridor that led deeper into the back halls of the convention center. Parker followed.

“He’s not my friend, Parker.” Eliot replied. “He’s just another hitter.”

Parker snorted. Because she still remembered stumbling in on the two of them passed out on the couch in the locked back room of the Brewpub after one of their hitters night out jobs, a veritable castle of empty beer bottles stacked on their operations table forming an impressively large pyramid.

It caused the henchman she was sneaking up on to whirl in her direction.

“Oops,” she mumbled, ducking out of the way of a meaty fist. It smelled faintly of garlic and she wrinkled her nose. Another quick dodge gave her an opening to dart forward, and she stuck her trusty taser right up against the man’s waist until he dropped to the floor, still convulsing. She prodded him once with her foot, wondering why more people didn’t carry tasers, because they were great. In a few moves, she liberated the duffel bag and slung it over her shoulder, retrieved the briefcase formerly belonging to Quinn, and then took the unconscious man’s wallet for good luck.

All in a day’s work.

“Interior cameras are back up in 15 seconds. You need to move, girl.” Hardison’s voice had an undertone of urgency, but Parker was already on the move, the pulse of passing time a steady and familiar undertone in the back of her mind.

The body of a fifth man was crumpled by the building’s entrance where Peggy was supposed to be hiding.

Parker froze, head already spinning into problem solving mode. There were scuff marks on the floor and a dent in the nondescript car parked nearby. Clearly, Peggy had put up a fight.

Parker jogged around the exterior of the building, getting a sense of which way someone might have taken her friend.

A rescue plan was already half formed when she caught sight of Peggy herself rounding the corner from inside the building. Parker was relieved to note that she looked completely unharmed. Trailing behind her like a slightly disheveled puppy was Quinn. In the dim glow of the building’s exterior light, his hair was a messy halo around his face. He held a gun loosely by his side, and as they got closer, Parker could see a bruise starting to form against his cheek.

Not trailing, Parker realized with glee. Peggy was practically dragging him along by the wrist.

“Peggy, you’re okay!”

“What about me?” The tone didn’t help Quinn’s kicked puppy image at all. “Don’t you want to know if I’m okay?”

“I’ve seen Eliot take way worse hits, stop complaining.” Parker took a second look at his face. He seemed to be handling himself fine earlier, had someone gotten the drop on him? “What happened to your face? The guys in there too tough for you?”

Peggy let out a peal of laughter, quickly smacking a hand over her mouth to muffle herself. She said something Parker couldn’t make out. When she asked again, Peggy barely managed to get out a, “It was me, I hit him.”

Quinn rubbed at his jaw. “And here I thought you liked me.”

“You snuck up on me.”

“I was trying to protect you from the man with the gun.” Quinn interjected, pointing to the man still crumpled face down on the ground. “You’re welcome.”

_“You’re_ a man with a gun! Of course I punched you, I thought you were trying to kill me.”

Quinn beamed. “It was a really good punch.”

Parker laughed, suddenly reminded of Eliot’s reaction when Sophie punched Hardison for that potato con a few years ago. Hitters were weird, she decided, as the three of them left the warehouse in high spirits.

“When I gave you my number,” Quinn continued, “I was hoping you’d call. I wasn’t expecting you to show up in person.”

“Me either. But you don’t seem very upset for a guy whose job was ruined and who almost got killed for it.”

“Quinn almost gets killed a lot. It’s like a hobby for him,” Parker jumped in. “What?” She added, when he turned to glare at her. “That’s what Eliot says all the time.”

Quinn rolled his eyes. “I happen to be a skilled professional highly sought after in my line of work, thank you kindly. And as for the job, I’m hardly thrilled about it. But they changed the deal on me first, so I’m not too broken up about you two ruining their day.”

And _that_? Not getting your promised money—that’s an anger Parker understands.

Somewhere between the convention center parking lot and Parker and Peggy’s hotel, Quinn had unofficially become part of the team. Partly because he offered good insights as a hitter and partly because Peggy wouldn’t let go of his hand.

The three of them all gathered in the living room of their suite. On further inspection, it turned out the briefcase Quinn was delivering had more than just drug-laced labels inside. It also had a flash drive of encrypted data hidden in the lining.

It didn’t take long for Hardison to crack it, as he expounded on at great lengths.

Shortly after, Parker pressed a button on her phone, and the hotel’s TV came alive, flashing up a picture of chemical equations. “The drive contained the formula used on the jam labels,” she said, repeating the highlights of her earlier conversation for her audience in the room.

“I’m guessing that’s bad?” Peggy asked.

“Yeah, it’s bad. Real bad.” Eliot’s voice sounded over the television speakers. “It’s some kind of new formula, undetectable to smell or any other form of drug identification we’ve currently got. Which means it could be administered anywhere, to anyone, no matter how tight the security is. And if that ain’t bad enough, it’s completely untraceable once it’s in the bloodstream.”

Quinn leaned forward, studying the screen with renewed interest. “That’d be worth a lot of money on the open market.”

“Don’t even think about it.” Parker and Eliot replied in unison.

Parker didn’t think she’d need it, but her taser was a comforting weight clipped to her belt.

Quinn rolled his eyes, leaning back on the couch. “As temping as the payout is, I’ll take a hard pass. I’m not dumb enough to cross you and your pals. Also, my very handsome face has already taken one for this team, it’d be a shame not to see this through.”

Parker nodded, and caught Peggy stifling a giggle.

Finally, after several more hours of discussion, the plan was set. They each knew what roles they had to play for the day ahead tomorrow.

Later, Parker couldn’t settle enough to get to sleep for a long time. She didn’t like working without her team, and she missed Hardison and Eliot’s presence like a gaping hole on either side of her. Her crew on this con consisted of an amateur who’d never done this kind of work before, and an unpredictable professional she wasn’t sure would have her back if things fell apart.

There was no safety net on this one. Parker would have to be on her best game if she wanted to get everyone out of this alive.

.

Peggy was sitting on the closed toilet seat in the convention center bathroom stall, head between her knees and taking deep gasping breaths. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

She was dressed in a simple blank pantsuit and collared shirt, her normally bouncy hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail. On her feet were sensible yet stylish heels conducive to both running and fighting. Not that there were any plans for Peggy to fight, but she needed to look like she could. In short, she looked like a crime boss about to do crime, not a cat-loving catering-company owner.

Or, at least that’s how she _would_ look, if she wasn’t on the verge of a full-blown panic attack.

Parker hovered near the stall door, unsure of what to say. The thrill of the job was already pumping through her, each sense slowly coming alive in the way it only did when she was stealing the impossible. Or sitting astride Hardison, riding him until they both cried out, his lean muscles underneath her and Eliot at her back. Or in freefall.

But she also remembered her first car boost. How there was a fine line between ecstasy and terror.

Slowly, Parker inched closer. When Peggy didn’t pull away, she let her hand rest on her friend’s shoulder, giving it a couple awkward pats.

“Remember that time you almost beat a guy to death with a frying pan after he tried to stab you?”

Peggy’s eyes were wide and a little bit wild when she finally picked her head up. “I did do that, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you did. Believe me, this is _way_ easier. All you have to do now is scare some bad guys,” Parker assured her. “And come on, you’re a small business owner. What’s a few drug runners when you deal with annoying clients all day? Easy, right.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Peggy lips. And maybe that’s what friendship was too. Giving friends pep talks before doing crime together.

“Hey,” Parker poked at her arm. “No smiling. You’re a scary criminal now, remember.”

“Right. A scary criminal.”

Peggy swallowed and stood up, her tentative grin replaced by a no-nonsense frown.

“Remember,” Parker said. “Get in, take no shit, and get out. That’s all you have to do. Quinn will be there the whole time. He won’t let you get hurt.”

He better not, or Parker would wring his neck herself. She was told she had very strong fingers.

Despite the calm words, this was the part of the plan Parker was least comfortable with. Peggy was a good person, Peggy was normal. _Friends didn’t send friends into sketchy offices to set up meetings with Los Angeles drug cartel leaders._ But there was no way around it. Eliot and Hardison were too far away, and the cartel leader in question had already seen Parker’s face. It was up to Peggy to arrange the meet.

“Get in, take no shit, get out,” Peggy repeated. She squared her shoulders. “Let’s do this.”

They walked out onto the main floor.

.

"It's my honor to introduce our surprise guest judge for this year's Just Eat It cooking competition.” The announcer paused, letting the applause wash over the exhibition hall, "Please welcome Miss Alice White!"

Parker made her way through the crowd towards the front of the room. Peggy would be going off to play her part of the con now, but she had to put that out of her mind. Parker was the distraction—by her own plan—and there wasn’t anything else she could do. So she focused on the present.

‘The thing you have to remember about judging a food competition,’ Eliot had told her earlier, ‘is that it doesn’t matter what you say about the food. Just say whatever comes to mind. People want a show, so give ‘em a show.’

Parker replayed that advice over and over in her mind as she stepped up to the makeshift stage and took her seat at the long tasting table, nodding at the other two guest judges. She repeated it again when the contestants began to cook, and again as the first dish was set in front of her.

“A deconstructed fish and chips made with hake.” The announcer went on to describe the dish in further detail but Parker tuned it out.

The plate in front of her looked nothing like the dish Eliot had once made. On the bottom was a circle of what looked like fried shoestrings, with some kind of grilled fish on top. Sprinkled across the top was a green and white sauce.

Parker eyed it some more. Where was the fried fish and where were the chips? Did she get the wrong food? Was there a problem? Her brain was whirring with possibilities, the top one being that the bad guys had replaced the chef the same way she had replaced one of the judges.

The only thing stopping her from springing into action was that none of the other two judges looked alarmed. They were just looking at her, waiting. Tentatively, she grabbed her fork and tried a bite.

And oh, okay that tasted familiar. Not as good as Eliot’s but not bad either. She stopped chewing and looked up from her plate. “I don’t hake it,” she declared.

The audience laughed, and the nervous looking chef smiled at her. And alright, maybe this whole food judge thing wasn’t so bad after all.

Parker continued tasting dish after dish. By the end of it, she had to admit that this was fun. The food was mostly good and according to the presenter, the crowd liked her “quirky sense of humor” as he’d put it. If she ever decided a life of crime wasn’t for her, a food taster wasn’t a bad second choice.

Finally, the last dish was presented before her. This would be the drugged one. Finally. Eating food was fun and all, but Parker was starting to get a little bored. Now for the fun stuff.

Parker took one bite of the raspberry caramel truffle with white chocolate sauce, gave her verdict that it, “tastes like snowmen in the summer,” and toppled out of her chair. She hit the floor and didn’t move.

Around her, the room erupted into chaos.

.

_(Earlier that same day, but not very much earlier)_.

The branch office of Jamlicious Jams was cold. Peggy could feel the chill even through her suit jacket. Across from her was the man who tried to kill her a few days ago. Average height, brown cropped hair, and cold eyes— the same man from the warehouse meeting they’d interrupted.

A bubble of hysterical giggles lodged itself in the back of her throat and she struggled to maintain her collected façade.

This whole thing was ridiculous. A few days ago, she was trying new hummus flavors and now—now she was pretending to be some hotshot arms dealer from Seattle who was mad about her foray into untraceable poisons being derailed. And except for the murder part, it was strangely like every other time she had yelled at a wayward employee who was screwing up one of her meticulously planned catering events.

Good thing she was used to being in charge. She might actually pull this off.

“My man here,” Peggy gestured to where Quinn stood to her right and a respectful half step behind. “He tells me you not only managed to lose the product I delivered to you, but that you also lost my money.”

And oh yeah, how could she forget about how the cute guy she liked turned out to be some kind of dangerous criminal for hire. And she was pretending to be his even scarier criminal employer. Just a normal Sunday, nothing to see here.

The man’s eyes frantically looked between the two of them. “He’s lying. He—”

“Enough,” Peggy cut him off. “Here’s how you’ll make it up to me.” She nodded to Quinn, who took a plain white envelope out of his jacket breast pocket and put it on the conference table.

“I brought you a replacement sample,” Peggy said. “I know you had a test run planned. Now you’ll do it on a target of my choosing. Meanwhile, I’m going to find the thief you’re too incompetent to catch and clean up this mess. I expect you to be waiting here for me when I’m done. Are we clear?”

The man nodded.

Peggy was used to people staring at her in her line of work. She’d gotten a lot of looks over the years: anxious, angry, fearful, annoyed. But she’d never been stared at with that level of terror before. Whoever this person was that Peggy was impersonating was, she hoped to hell they never met.

Without another word, she left, Quinn trailing dutifully behind her.

.

Once they were gone, the man opened the envelope. Inside was a single sample of the drug and a sheet of paper that read only.

_Alice White, Convention Center B, dessert course_

.

(On the way out, Peggy planted the stolen money and the stolen drugs and dialed a phone number Parker had given her.

“Um, hi. Is this Agent McSweeten? I’m a colleague of Agent Hagen’s. How fast can you get someone to San Francisco?”)

.

Sometime later, in the back of a stolen ambulance, Parker bolted upright on a gurney. “Did we get them?”

The paramedic in the driver’s seat turned around and beamed at her. It was Peggy. “The bust went down just like you said. The FBI raided their warehouse stash while everyone was focused on you. They never saw it coming.”

Quinn nodded from the passenger seat. “Peggy made a great fake crime boss. We’ll make a criminal of her, yet.”

“No we will not.” Parker pointed at the both of them. “You’re not allowed to corrupt my good, normal friend.”

Peggy laughed. “Don’t worry, I think today was enough excitement to last me all year. This was fun, but let’s not do it again, okay.”

“Yeah, next time you can fake dead and I’ll be the fake crime lord and FBI agent,” Parker agreed.

Pretending to die was fun for the first few moments, and she’d liked winking at Quinn when he’d shouldered through the crowd and lifted her onto a stretcher, but then the rest of it was the bad kind of tedious. Parker could sit for hours perched on the side of a building, waiting for the perfect moment to make her move. But playing dead in the back of a stolen ambulance had no thrill.

Parker’s eyes widened as the realization hit her. “How long ago did they raid the warehouse?”

“It just happened,” Peggy replied. “Why?”

“Because we have one more job to do.” Parker gestured towards the steering wheel. “Hit the sirens and hurry. I hope we’re not too late.”

The ambulance careened down the San Francisco streets as Parker gave frantic directions, guided by Hardison in her ear to get them around traffic. Each minute pounded against Parker’s chest as they pulled up to a nondescript office building. The type that rented temporary space by the week. The sketchy West Coast Headquarters of Jamlicious Jams.

“Why are we back here?” Peggy asked.

“Come on, come on, or we’ll miss it.” Parker jumped out of the ambulance and grabbed Peggy’s hand, pulling her along through the crowds of people already starting to gather around the police cars arranged near the building’s entrance.

Right at that moment, a group of men in suits and FBI badges exited the building. Between them was a group of three men, their hands all cuffed behind them. Flashes of dancing red and blue lights lit up their faces as they shuffled past.

Right before the leader ducked into the car, he looked over and saw the three of them, Peggy and Quinn still in their paramedic gear, and Parker wearing the same outfit she supposedly died in.

Parker gave a wave, and nudged Peggy to do the same.

“Oh,” Peggy said, still grinning as the cars pulled away. “You’re right, that was fun.”

They grinned at each other.

.

_Epilogue_

Peggy’s flight back to Boston had taken off sometime while Parker was pretending to be dead in the back of an ambulance.

“I can’t believe I forgot to change my ticket!” Peggy ran her hands through her hair and tugged at the roots, letting out a long groan. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Well you were kind of busy impersonating a criminal underworld boss. And breaking up an international drug distribution ring.”

“I don’t think that qualifies under United’s travel protection policy.”

“I can get Hardison to book you a new one,” Parker offered.

“Actually…” Peggy trailed off and looked behind them.

Quinn was flashing what Parker could see was an impressive fake Interpol badge to the FBI and local police officers clearing up the scene. She smirked to herself when she thought of Sterling finding out about her part in today’s events.

Peggy turned back to her. “I think I’ll stick around a couple more days.”

“You sure?”

Peggy nodded. Her hair was down from its earlier ponytail and bobbing around her chin as she moved. She looked tired but there was a hint of excitement around the corner of her eyes. “Yeah. Come on, a date with a cute guy who saved my life and who likes cats. Who’d turn that down?”

Parker wrinkled her nose. “He really likes cats?”

“Yeah.” Peggy’s grin got even wider, which Parker didn’t think was possible. It lit up her whole face. “He even left a message for Herc,” she whispered.

“Of course he’d like the guard-cat. You better watch out, he’ll probably try to teach the cat how to actually fight or shoot a gun.” But Parker was grinning as she said it, if only for the amazing blackmail information she’d just acquired. “You call me if you need anything, okay.”

(And fine, maybe friends really did let friends fall for international criminals.)

“Okay. But hopefully I’ve reached my quota of murder attempts for the year. I think I’m ready to be a boring small business owner again.”

“You’re a lot of things, Peggy Milbank, but boring is not one of them.”

They hugged goodbye and were about to part ways when Peggy added, “I’ll call you about that next girls weekend. Jumping off buildings, right?”

Parker bounced on the balls of her feet. “You’ll love it.”

As Parker walked away from the flashing police lights, she had an extra spring in her step. The case was solved, the bad guys were arrested, and girls weekend was a success. Not to mention, she had bags and bags of new foods and new ideas for the Brew Pub to try.

But first, she had her own international criminals to get home to.


End file.
